


Moonlight Feathers

by Akikofuma



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Baby griffins, Beast on Beast Mating, Bottom!Geralt, Bottom!Jaskier, Breeding, Come Inflation, Egg Laying, Geralt Typical Angst, Griffin!Geralt, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Monsterfucker!Geralt, Monsterfucker!Jaskier, Mpreg, Protective!Geralt, Self-Lubrication, Self-loathing Geralt, Smutt & Fluff, Stomach Bulge, Top!Geralt, griffin!Jaskier, i wrote this when i should have been sleeping, minor injury, top!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akikofuma/pseuds/Akikofuma
Summary: None of his kind had been wooed enough to ignore Geralt’s- rather obvious -flaw.His feathers were white as snow; reflected in the light of the sun and moon. He stuck out like a sore thumb between his brothers; covered in dark browns, blacks and maroons. He couldn’t compare to the light browns and sand tones of the griffin’s living further south, surrounded by sand and the ocean.Geralt couldn’t blend into his surrounding, be it the woods or the grassy plains he often flew above. His prey and enemies would always see him coming miles away.Or: Due to his coloring, Geralt will never have a family of his own, he's sure of it; until he meets Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 31
Kudos: 607





	Moonlight Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the lovely bee and leah, who helped me edit and beta this mess <3

Geralt had spent many years wandering the continent, traveling through the skies above it. He’d never expected to actually find a mate, despite how much he’d yearned for it; yearned for a family of his own, kits to love and dote upon, raise them into strong, healthy, _fierce_ adults. They’d be so small at first, their tiny wings too weak to lift their feathered bodies off the ground. He’d dreamed about watching them take their first, unsteady steps, tiny talons digging into the dirt beneath their four legs; dreamed about the shine of their tiny beaks when they stepped into the sunlight for the first time, his mate standing proudly beside him as they watched over their litter.

He’d learned early on that his dreams would likely stay exactly that; dreams, ephemeral fantasies with no substance or foothold in reality.

Even in his youth, when he’d have been most attractive to potential mates, no other griffin had spared him a single glance; no matter how hard he fought for their attention or how hard he tried to prove his value by providing regular meals or fighting off dangers, none.

None of his kind had been wooed enough to ignore Geralt’s- rather obvious -flaw.

His feathers were white as snow; reflected in the light of the sun and moon. He stuck out like a sore thumb between his brothers; covered in dark browns, blacks and maroons. He couldn’t compare to the light browns and sand tones of the griffin’s living further south, surrounded by sand and the ocean.

Geralt couldn’t blend into his surrounding, be it the woods or the grassy plains he often flew above. His prey and enemies would always see him coming miles away.

His den would always be seen as less safe, considering how easily he could be detected, either from the sky above, or the ground below. Their kits would be too vulnerable, too helpless. They’dbe easy to kill, and their claws (however small), along with their feathers, were sought after by humans and mages alike. And a thought worse than possibly losing their kits to them; what if Geralt’s mutation was passed along to their kits? Their survival, just like his own, would be in doubt from the day of their birth.

No, no griffin would chosse a mate with such ugly feathers, risking to bear kits that would never grow old enough to have their own.

After being rejected one too many times, Geralt had finally had enough. He’d accepted his fate, doomed to a life of loneliness by his freakish coloring. No matter how good a scent, he never once entered into another fight over a mate, whether they were in season or not. If the pull became too much to bare, he took to the sky, removing himself from the situation. There was no point, even if he won the fights, he’d never be accepted. Hid himself away in his den when his own season arrived, never once wandering out of his cave to show interest in whatever amorous griffin that caught his scent. Once they saw him, they’d all fly off in disgust.

Then, centuries old, his entire world was flipped on its axis.

He met Jaskier.

* * *

Geralt’s season was in full swing when he heard, once again, the telltale flapping of wings. Another suitor that didn’t really want him; catching his scent and curious to see if he would suit them. The thought alone caused a spiteful huff of air from him, curling up tighter, wings pressed close against his back as he waited for the other to fuck off.

There was a thud, indicating the griffin had landed on the perch before his den. The fluttering of feathers settling as wings were pulled in making the white griffin huff. He hadn’t come out yet, wasn’t that enough proof that he wasn’t interested? Though the suitor did smell _good,_ warm and rich; floral, but not so sweet as to overwhelm his senses.

“Hello?” A voice called out, golden eyes narrowing at the sound. The visitor had turned into his human form, a first for Geralt. Griffins preferred to do their courting and mating in their beast forms, as far as he was aware. The strangeness of the situation was at least enough to tempt a glance towards the opening of his cave.

“ _Go away_ ,” he growled, snapping his beak sharply. “ _I’m not interested.”_

“Oh,” came the vocal reply, disappointment mingling into their scent. “That’s quite a shame, I have to say. Your scent is _lovely_.” 

Geralt huffed, snapping his beak once more. It didn’t matter if he smelled nice to the suitor, it never had. One peek at his plumage and he’d be off to find someone better.

“You know, perhaps we could just- talk?” the man suggested, still keeping out of Geralt’s sight. “I promise I won’t come any closer, unless you want me to.”

“ _Why the hell would you want to talk if I’m not going to let you breed me?”_ Geralt returned, feathers puffing up with irritation. 

“To get to know you, I suppose,” the stranger answered, thoughtful. “I haven’t exactly met many griffins.”

That made Geralt pause. How young was this suitor, if he hadn’t met many griffins? He already showed very odd behavior, turning into his human form, not bringing an offering-  a deer or rabbit- to try and woo him. 

“ _How old are you?”_ Geralt asked, curiosity winning over his better judgment. There was no harm in talking; perhaps it would take his mind off the aching in his stomach, the throbbing between his legs. His body doing it’s best to try and get him to mate and breed.

“Twenty-one,” the ~~man~~ , no, the _boy_ , cheerfully replied. “Off on my own for the first time, to be honest. I have to say, I still haven’t quite figured out how to land without making a fool of myself, but I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it eventually.” 

The new information served only to confuse Geralt further; their kits could be born in their human form, if the parent remained in that form for the duration of the pregnancy; but human babes were even more vulnerable. What griffin in their right mind would do that?

“My name is Jaskier, by the way,” the boy continued. “What about you?”

“.. _Geralt.“_

“Well, it’s wonderful to meet you Geralt, truly,” Geralt wanted to roll his eyes at that, his claws digging into the earth to form shallow little dips. No one was happy to see him but his brothers; having him around was like painting a target on their backs. “Are you hungry? I’m not much of a hunter but I could try  to rustle something up !”

“ _Stop trying to woo me, it won’t get you anywhere.”_ Geralt huffed, turning his head away from the den’s opening.

“I’m not trying to woo you, Geralt, I’m trying to be nice,” came the, possibly slightly offended, reply. “Really, do I seem like the type that would try to trick my way into your pants? Or your-  feathers ,  I suppose .” 

If he’d been in his human form, Geralt would have frowned.

“ _I could do with some food,”_ he finally replied, a bit uneasy. Really, what he  _ should _ be doing was discouraging the youth, send him on his way to find a better, safer mate- friend?-  _ something _ . So why did he give in?  _ “...If you want.” _

“Then I shall do my best to provide!” Jaskier replied, soon followed by the sounds of feathers, of wings flapping, lifting the boy into the air.

Now, all Geralt could do was wait.

* * *

It took much longer for Jaskier to return than Geralt had anticipated; it was spring and the woods teamed with life and prey. He’d all but given up on the idea of a fresh meal, when the wind carried the scent of blood towards him. Not a minute later, Jaskier was back at the dens opening, dropping a deer to the ground.

It was dark by now, but even  so , Geralt could make out the brown feathers gracing Jaskiers legs, a dash of black right above his claws. He couldn’t deny that they were nice to look at, reflecting the light o f the slowly rising moon. Curse his white feathers; if not for them, perhaps he’d have a shot- 

_ Stop it,  _ he scolded himself firmly.  _ Even if you weren’t a freak, he’s much too young.  He’d p robably knock you up and leave you to raise the litter alone. _

“Geralt?” the now familiar voice called out, four feathery legs replaced by two long, human  ones instead. They looked-  _nice;_ calves toned, the skin looking smooth as silk. Geralt had bedded a few humans in his time; enough to know his preferences at least,  and oh. Those legs were definitely  _good_ legs. “Are you coming out, or should I bring the food in?” 

The very thought of Jaskier seeing him, catching sight of his white feathers, made the griffin’s stomach churn, knotting with anxiety. Once he saw, Jaskier would leave. They all did.

He.. didn’t want Jaskier to leave. Not yet.

“ _Close your eyes,_ ” he commanded.  _ “I’ll get it myself.” _

“Oh my, are you  _ shy _ , Geralt?” the boy replied, a bit of teasing in his voice, though Geralt could make out no malice. “I’m sure you look wonderful, dear, but if you insist. My eyes are closed.” 

Slowly, Geralt got to his legs, inching his way towards the caves opening, just in case Jaskier was lying. But when he poked his head out, just enough to grab the offered deer, the boy had his eyes firmly closed; allowing him a closer look.

Jaskier was- well, he was _fucking_ _gorgeous_. Of course he was. Long legs led to dainty hips, a trim waist. He didn’t have as much muscle as Geralt did; a leaner, more slender physique that Geralt had sometimes seen on human males. His skin was pale, like the moon in the sky above, appearing almost radiant. Not at all comparable to the sickly, pale hue of Geralt’s own skin. 

His hair was thick and brown, much like his feathers had been; full lips curled into a soft smile. High cheekbones, with longer lashes than Geralt had ever witnessed before, Jaskier was a sight to behold. And then, of course, there was the boy’s cock. A bit on the smaller side, just as Geralt liked it; surrounded by neatly trimmed, dark brown curls. Swallowing down the whine he wanted to make as keen eyes watched the length began to swell, Geralt quickly retrieved the deer, dragging it into his den.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, sounding vaguely embarrassed. “I hope I didn’t upset you, it’s just- well. You smell  _amazing_ .”

“’ _s fine,”_ Geralt huffed, forcing himself to focus on the food he’d been offered. To not think about how he’d like to have that cock inside him, pressing against his sweet spot; maybe even leaving behind something in his belly- No. He wouldn’t think of it. He  _ wouldn’t _ .

“ _..Thank you. For this.”_ Geralt gruffed, ripping a bit of meat off the carcass with his beak. He hadn’t eaten since his season started, and oh, it was good to have food in him again.

“You’re quite welcome.” Jaskier hummed, sounding pleased. “I tried for a bigger one, but the bloody thing was  _ impossible _ to catch. You’d think we’d be born knowing how to hunt.” 

“ _Your parents didn’t teach you?”_ Geralt inquired, once more confused. Hunting was the first thing he’d learned from Vesemir, how to provide for himself.  Why hadn’t Jaskiers parents done the same? 

“Oh, my father tried, but I am equally untalented at the human way to hunt, I’m afraid,” came the reply, the scent of sorrow tinging the boy’s scent. “You see, I was raised by humans, mostly. My mother was a griffin, that fell in love with a human of noble birth, and had me. But my father didn’t know what she really was, so she could only ever tell me about griffin things, never show me.”

Geralt grunted in reply. It sounded like a shit way to grow up, admittedly, and it explained the boys odd behavior.

“ _Caught a deer,”_ he finally said, awkwardly.  _ “Can’t be completely hopeless.”  _

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Jaskier replied, though the scent of sadness did not disappear. “I believe I should leave you be now. It’s late after all.”

Geralt quickly raised his head, muscles tense. Had Jaskier had ulterior motives after all to offer food? Had he expected Geralt to let him into his den?

“But, if you’d allow it,” the brunette continued, oblivious to the anxiety Geralt felt. “I could visit again tomorrow?”

The tension in his body eased. This was a mistake, Geralt  _ knew _ it was. Getting close to Jaskier would only bring him pain. 

“ _..Bring more food, and I’ll consider it._ ” No need to let Jaskier know just how eager Geralt was for his return. 

“As you wish,” Jaskier readily agreed  in melodious tunes , seemingly rather pleased with the reply. “Good night, Geralt.  I’ll see you tomorrow .” 

* * *

Jaskier did indeed return the next day. And the following. And the day after  _ that _ . 

Presented Geralt with food, closing his eyes as Geralt demanded. Never once pushing the griffin to let him see, or demand to know why he wasn’t allowed to lay eyes upon him.

Jaskier took everything in stride, spent the day talking to ( or  sometimes at) Geralt; when he wasn’t talking, he was humming, or singing.  Ever so often , he’d nap in the sun, allowing the older male to get closer, greedily running honey colored eyes along the sleeping form. 

It was wrong to leer upon the boy while he slept, but it was the only way he got to see Jaskier, without revealing himself. Soon, when his season was over, he’d have no excuse for hiding himself away. Truth be told, he was already getting antsy with the need to fly, to feel the wind in his wings.

Soon, this peaceful time would come to an end. Jaskier might have been raised by humans, but even he would recognize how ugly Geralt was. How  _wrong_ . 

The morning came when Geralt woke, and the aching in his groin was gone. His scent had returned to its normal state, no trace of his heat scent left behind. His chest constricted with the knowledge of what was going to happen, once the brunette came to visit.

Maybe he could push it off another day or pretend he was sore, tired maybe. Would Jaskier believe it? Had the younger man even gone through a season yet?

He spent hours trying to come up with a good excuse, one that would buy him just a few more days of company, of easy conversation.

As it turned out, the decision on what to do would quickly become simple.

He heard Jaskier approaching, the flapping of wings, the scent of blood- but something was off. Geralt closed his eyes and focused on his hearing; and there it was. A whimper of pain, wings moving unevenly, faster than they should be.

Jaskier was  _hurt_ .

Geralt scrambled out of his den just in time for the brunette to collapse before him, breathing labored, a deep, long gash in his right wing. Geralt’s heart skipped a beat as blood flowed freely from the injured appendage into the dirt.

“ _What happened?!_ ” Geralt demanded, anger and worry bubbling in his chest, quickly lowering himself down beside Jaskier to inspect the wound. It was bad, but far from the worst Geralt had ever seen (or sustained himself), and yet; his heart was racing, mind spinning. Jaskier had to be okay. He had to be. 

“ _Wanted to bring you a boar,_ ” Jaskier weakly replied,  eyes closed .  _ “Said you like it best but. I got stuck and it got me with its tusks.” _

Stupid. He shouldn’t have told the brunette that he liked boar, should’ve gone with something easier to hunt; Jaskier had little experience and wild pigs could be fierce. Geralt should have known better.

“ _ You’ll be fine,”  _ Geralt said, hoping to sound reassuring.  _ “Going to clean you up, alright?”  _

“ _Mmhm._ ” Jaskier hummed in reply, barely moving. He must have flown farther than Geralt thought, clearly exhausted. 

“ _Should’ve rested somewhere,”_ Geralt huffed, running his tongue over the wound; the metallic taste of blood quickly filling his mouth as he worked; careful not to bend the brunettes feather’s.  _ “Why did you fly all the way here?” _

“ _You were waiting for me. I didn’t want to let you down,”_ Jaskier replied, slowly dropping off to sleep.  _ “Are you mad at me?” _

“ _No,”_ Geralt grunted, laving his t ongue along the edges of the wound,  not knowing what else to say. Jaskier had hunted for him, had gotten hurt because of him. Had put himself through so much, just to reach him. He deserved none of it.  _“Go to sleep._ _We’ll talk more tomorrow.”_

Jaskier was already asleep.

Wound tended to, Geralt could do little else but sit beside Jaskier; watch over him as he recovered. The bleeding had stopped completely, but the sight of the injured wing still made the griffin flinch. He’d make sure to take care of Jaskier; he’d hunt for him, keep him warm during the night. Clean the gash in his wing every day.

He’d make up for the pain he’d caused.

* * *

“ _Geralt,”_ a voice called, waking him from his uneasy slumber. 

Fuck. He’d fallen asleep.

“ _Oh Geralt, look at you..”_ The words made Geralt flinch; Jaskier was awake.  He w as finally getting a look at the freak that was the older griffin, of feathers le a ched from color. All he could hope was that the brunette would still allow him to tend to his injury. To watch Jaskier leave would be bad enough, but to be forced to watch him do so while injured made bile rise in his throat. “ _ You’re beautiful!” _

“ _..What?”_ In all the years he’d been alive, Geralt had been called many things, most of them unpleasant. 

Freak. Abomination. Mutant.

He had to have misunderstood. Or maybe Jaskier was  delirious with fever? He didn’t feel hot from where Geralt laid, but it was the only thing that made sense. 

“ _You’re beautiful.”_ Jaskier repeated, sounding awed.  _ “Your feathers.. they’re like moonlight.”  _

Geralt shook his head, getting up to see the brunette over, check the wound for infection. Maybe he hadn’t cleaned it out thoroughly enough, maybe the boar’s tusk had carried something  _ on _ them- he turned his head to face the man when he could find nothing wrong, intending to ask a question, only to completely forget what words were. 

For the first time, he got to see the blue of Jaskiers eyes; like the sky on a hot summer day, like the ocean at its deepest; like the gems he saw dangling around humans’ necks. Gorgeous, wondrous pools that Geralt wanted to drown in.

No. He had to focus. Jaskier was unwell.

“ _How are you feeling?”_ he asked, nudging the injured wing with his beak, getting it back into a position that would allow him to clean it. 

“ _Inspired. Enthralled. Oh, you’re exquisite, absolutely lovely, Geralt.”_ The boy babbled, readily allowing access to his wing. It only confused the older griffin further. 

Jaskier wasn’t running a fever. He wasn’t disgusted, or compelled to move away. Didn’t run from Geralt, as all the rest had; as if his mutation was somehow contagious. No, Jaskier was relaxed beneath him; no stink of fear or even anger. Just.. happiness.

“ _Must’ve hit your head,”_ Geralt rumbled, focusing on the task before him; laving his tongue over the healing tissue.  _ “I’m none of those things.”  _

“ _Is that why you hid?”_ the brunette asked, lifting his head enough to fix Geralt with those blue, blue eyes.  _ “You think you’re ugly?” _

“ _I don’t think it, I know it,”_ Geralt answered, huffing.  _“We’re not supposed to be white. Makes us an easy target, a liability. I’m a freak.”_

“ _Bullshit.”_ Jaskier groused, only to whine when his wing attempted to spread out in indignation. 

“ _Be still,”_ Geralt snapped, immediately regretting the harshness of his words. Gentler, he continued.  _ “You’ll open it up again.”  _

“ _I just- I can’t believe you’d think yourself anything but stunning, Geralt,”_ the brunette responded, lowering his wing back down. _“You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”_

Geralt said nothing; what was he supposed to reply  to  that? No one had ever thought him beautiful. He  _ wasn’t _ . He was too bright, too loud; would never be good enough for anyone. 

Except.

Except Jaskier was looking at him with such reverence; his words spoken so earnestly, Geralt could almost believe them. Almost.

“ _Going to hunt us some food when I’m done here. You need food,”_ he was met with silence for a few moments. Then, Jaskier huffed. 

“ _Fine. But I’m not taking it back. You’re gorgeous.”_

Geralt, unwilling to start an argument, and frankly too confused to do anything else, went along with it.

Surely t he light of day would change Jaskiers mind, when he could fully see how freakish Geralt was . 

S urely. 

* * *

Again, Geralt was wrong.

Morning came and went, and Jaskier didn’t change his tune. They ate together, and after they made their way inside the den, the brunette curled against Geralt’s side, cooing happily.

“ _You’re so soft,”_ Jaskier crowed, resting his head on his crossed front legs.  _ “And warm.”  _

“ _..You talk too much.”_ Geralt huffed, not quite able to keep himself from preening just a bit. Jaskier was happy and warm beside him; he’d provided him with food, and a place to rest. 

He’d done well.

“ _Maybe you don’t talk enough,”_ the younger man quipped playfully.  _ “And I still think you’re gorgeous.”  _

“ _ Like I said,  you  must’ve hit your head. Perhaps more than once,”  _ Geralt dryly replied.  _ “ Get some more sleep. The more you rest, the sooner your wing will heal.” _

Jaskier looked like he wanted to protest, only to interrupt himself with a yawn. It was.. cute.

“ _Fine. I could do with a nap,”_ he agreed, if reluctantly.  _ “But just you wait. I’ll convince you one of these days.” _

* * *

Spring turned into summer, and Jaskier was still around.

They spent their days together, soaring through the skies; seeing who could go faster, or who chickened out first after a dive towards the ground. Geralt taught the brunette how to hunt, or at least attempted to. The younger griffin had been telling the truth; he lacked all talent where tracking was concerned, and took no joy in killing, even to feed himself.

In turn, Jaskier spent hours talking to Geralt about the time he’d spent among humans. Even convinced Geralt to spend time in his human form. He sang songs he’d written, and asked Geralt’s opinion, as if he had any idea about music or lyrics. All the while casually touching, leaning against the older griffins shoulder, placing his smaller hand above Geralt’s larger one.

Geralt couldn’t remember a time he was happier.

H e’d found a friend, a companion. Someone that wanted to share his life, despite his oddities and the risk that came with  them. Someone that  _liked_ him, and enjoyed his presence. Jaskier was like the first sunshine after a harsh winter. He’d do anything to keep him around. 

He just couldn’t mess this up.

Had to hide the thing growing in his chest a little more each day. Jaskier was his friend. Not once had the brunette alluded to them being anything but that. Sure, he called Geralt beautiful, but that didn’t mean he  _wanted_ him. 

Geralt wasn’t going to push his luck on the matter. He would be content with what he had; as long as Jaskier was beside him, smiled at him, so full of sunshine and joy.

He didn’t need Jaskier to love him in return.

Though some nights, when the younger griffin slept beside him in what had become their den, Geralt couldn’t help but imagine what life as mates would be like.

It didn’t matter; it would never happen.

* * *

Fall had just begun turning the leaves red and yellow, when Geralt woke to a scent he knew all too well.

“Geralt..” Jaskier mewled, curled against the griffin’s side in his human form, nuzzling into the plumage of his side. “Geralt, somethings wrong, I- I feel strange.”

Fuck.  _Fuck_ .

“ _Calm down, little lark,”_ he soothed, gently nudging the  boy’s cheek with his beak.  _“It’s your season, you’re alright.”_

“Oh..” the brunette replied, blue eyes turning to look up at Geralt. “Does that mean- I could..?”

“ _If you wanted to,”_ Geralt quietly agreed, closing his eyes. Jaskier was young, but who was he to judge? If he wanted a litter, he’d find a willing mate.  _ “You could find a mate, have yourself some kits.”  _

“..What do you mean,  _find_ a mate?” Jaskier question, brows furrowing with confusion. “I- I know we haven’t done anything, we haven’t even kissed, but I- I thought, maybe- you wanted to be mine?” 

“ _Jaskier..”_ It had to be a dream. There was no way this beautiful creature, this being of infinite joy and warmth, could want  _ him _ . Geralt was too old, his feathers too bright; any kits they had would be at risk of so many dangers..  _ “I can’t. Looking like me- it isn’t safe. If our kits took after me..”  _

“Then they’d grow up to be just as beautiful as their father,” the brunette whispered, reaching out to run his hands along Geralt’s flank, fingers combing through his feathers. “We’d never let anything happen to them.”

“ _You can’t say_ _know_ _for sure,”_ Geralt argued, though even to himself, he sounded unconvinced. He just-  _wanted_ Jaskier so much, to selfishly claim the other as his own; father kits with him, and b ear some himself. Selfish. Jaskier could do better.  _“_ _It would be better if you found someone else-”_

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupted, his voice firm. “If you don’t want me, then I understand. But if you’re only pushing me away because you’re scared, or- worried about me, then please, don’t. I want  _you_ . No one else.” 

“ _ It’s not that easy,”  _ Geralt tried again, though his resolve was already crumbling. He was being pulled towards the brunette; his scent, his eyes. Everything the little lark was calling to him.  _ “You have to be sure.”  _

“I am sure, Geralt,” Jaskier replied, sitting up to place a kiss on the griffin’s beak. “I’m sure. I want you. I  _ love  _ you.” 

G eralt couldn’t take it anymore.

Shifting into his human form as quickly as he could, for Jaskier had made no indicati on of changing form himself, he all but tackled the brunette onto the ground.  Geralt still felt a bit awkward like this; but he’d be damned if he stopped now.

Their first kiss was sloppy, a clashing of teeth and tongues; Geralt couldn’t bring himself to slow down, not when he finally had what he’d wanted for all these years. A wonderful mate.

“First one may not take,” he rumbled against lush lips, greedily running his hands along the songbird’s side; skin silky soft beneath his calloused fingers.

“We’ll try again,” Jaskier breathed, wrapping his arms around the white-haired male, pulling him close. “Try as many times as we have to.”

Geralt growled, hips rutting forward, sliding his chock against the V of his larks hips. He couldn’t fucking  _wait_ . He’d mount his mate as many times as it took; let Jaskier mount him, if he ever wanted to. Geralt could carry their litter too, after all. 

“Want you,” the brunette whined, wiggling until he could spread his legs, allowing Geralt to slot between them, cocks brushing, pulling a groan from both of them. “Want you Geralt, please don’t make me wait!”

Somewhere in his mind, Geralt was aware that he should perhaps be taking this slower. Jaskier had never been with anyone before, had said as much in a past conversation; he should at least put an effort into making it something special.

Jaskier, it seemed, would tolerate none of that. Clawing at Geralt’s back, thrusting his hips upwards with his need, the air filling with the sweet scent of slick. Begging to be filled.

Unable to deny his lark anything, Geralt obliged. Lifted Jaskiers hips, positioning himself between those long legs he’d admired all those months ago, when he’d first seen him. He ran his fingers across the puckered hole, finding it soft and slick; so ready to be spread open around his dick it fluttered against his touch.

“Please!” the brunette begged, squirming in his grasp; Geralt shushed him, his entire willpower going towards making the first breach gentle; at first pushing only the head of his cock inside, watching in awe as the tight little hole spread around him with a quiet squelching sound.

“Fuck,” he grunted, bending over until their foreheads met. Jaskier felt so  _good_ , so tight and hot; Geralt could do little else but force himself to go slow, sinking inch after inch into the songbird’s slick channel. Jaskiers own cock twitching rapidly against Geralt’s stomach, noisy little pants escaping  from between  pink lips. “ _Fuck_ , Jask.” 

His mate seemed beyond words now; simply held on to Geralt like a lifeline as he shook, tears of overwhelmed pleasure running along his cheeks as his body demanded more.

After  what felt like  an eternity, Geralt was fully sheathed; his cock pressing right up against Jaskiers cervix, pulling a truly beautiful whine from the smaller male. It had never felt this good, this  _right_ , to be buried deep inside another being. 

While his thrusts started out slow, there was no way to keep this gentle for very long; not with the way Jaskier urged him on with his pleas, the clench of his body around Geralt’s cock. Soon, he was fucking his mate with all his strength, greedily mouthing at his lips, his neck, anything his lips could reach. His back would be a mess by the time they were done, covered in scratches, the mild pain only spurring him to move harder, thrust deeper. Fill his mate with his seed, and watch his stomach swell with their kits. 

Jaskier came first; head thrown back as he wailed, small cock spurting against Geralt’s stomach, muscles clenching around his cock, and he was lost. His knot filled as he came, locking them together as Geralt roared his pleasure into the  crisp  morning air. 

They trembled as they held each other, panting heavily as they came down from their high.

“Do you think it took?” Jaskier questioned quietly, placing his hand against his stomach, slightly rounded with Geralt’s seed.

“Don’t know,” Geralt breathed, nuzzling against his mate’s neck with a low rumble. “Hope so.”

“I think it did,” Jaskier whispered, tugging on white strands to pull Geralt up and steal a kiss.

In a few weeks time, they’d find out.

* * *

The next month came with a host of surprises.

His seed had indeed caught; Jaskier was carrying their very first litter. The brunette was radiant with his joy, even as he turned back into his regular form; wings fluttering happily as he rested beside Geralt. They’d agreed that giving birth to a knit in it’s human form was a bad idea, considering they lived in a cave high up in the mountains. This way, Jaskier could  deliver their eggs  into a nest they’d build when his time was close. Geralt couldn’t wait to lay eyes on their eggs, to warm them under his feathers, and Jaskiers, until they hatched. 

The second surprise, however, hadn’t come long after.

In the middle of the night, with Jaskier sleeping peacefully beside him, Geralt woke to a sensation he hadn’t expected to feel for many months. His cock was hard, and his hole ached with the need to be stuffed full.

Inexplicably, his own season had arrived, long before it should have. Shifting in discomfort, Geralt weighed his options. His mate was pregnant; they already had at least one kit on the way,  quite possibly more. Could they afford to both carry a litter? Jaskier was getting better at hunting, he’d deliver sooner than Geralt.. could they manage to keep themselves, and their kits, fed? 

“ _Geralt?”_ called a sleepy Jaskier, still only half awake as he nuzzled into Geralt’s neck.  _ “’s wrong?”  _

“ _Season came early,”_ Geralt replied, a feeling of unease settling in his chest. Would Jaskier even want him to carry a litter? They’d never talked about it, he hadn’t thought it would be an issue anytime soon. Jaskier perked up beside him, blinking the haze of sleep from his eyes. 

“ _ Alright,”  _ the smaller man began, moving to face Geralt, rubbing his beak against the others lovingly.  _ “What do you want to do?”  _

Geralt..

Geralt wanted to carry a litter. He wanted their kits to grow inside him, wanted his stomach to bulge just like Jaskiers soon would. He  _ wanted _ . But would Jaskier want the same thing? 

Slowly, Geralt lifted his rear, strong hindquarters raised in the air, chest pressed into the ground. A silent offer, for Jaskier to take, or not. His mates wings trembled as he took in the sight before him; Geralt, presenting and ready to be bred.

With an adorable chirp of excitement, Jaskier scrambled into place; his talons grazing Geralt’s flank with a bit too much pressure in his enthusiasm. A warning snap of his beak was all it took to gentle the brunette, an apology nuzzled into the white feathers at Geralt’s back, right between his wings.

“ _You’re sure?”_ Jaskier ask ed , echoing the question Geralt had asked not long ago. He d idn’t have it in him to reply with words, simply pushe d his rear back against his mate. His insides  throbbed ,  his legs shaking with need, because he’ d never given this to anyone before, not a single one, and  _oh_ , how much he want ed Jaskier to just fuck him, breed him full- 

The first thrust  was clumsy, Jaskier’s cock catching on his aching, slick hole, only to slip upwards instead of in. With a frustrated sound, Geralt digs his talons into the dirt, impatient and needy. 

“ _Get in me,”_ he snapped,  ill t empered with nerves and the deep seated desire he’s denied for so long. He want ed to be fucked, he want ed to be bred, and Jaskier was taking too damn long to fucking do it. 

“ _Pushy,”_ Jaskier teased, though his voice shook, hips thrusting helplessly against the wet opening before him. He tried again, again, and then- finally, Geralt was being split open on his cock, wings snapping out to flatten themselves against the ground. Filled to the brim, Geralt could do nothing but take it, writhing beneath the smaller male. 

Jaskiers cock hit deep, angled just right, hit all the right spots that had the older griffin seeing stars;  how he’d gone so long without this feeling, he’d never know. Jaskier would be fucking him from sunrise to sundown from now on; or perhaps they’d take turns. Never again would he go without being filled. 

“ _Fuck me Jask,”_ he growled, shoving his rear back with more force, his entire body on fire with how badly he wanted.  _ “Give me your kits.”  _

With a strangled sound, Jaskier began to thrust; his movement starting out haphazard, irregular, but quickly finding a rhythm that drove his mate insane. Geralt dug his talons into the dirt, tail swishing in the air as he did his best to keep it out of the way. Gods, it felt divine, unreal, almost better than fucking Jaskier himself.

He never wanted it to end.

All too soon, Jaskiers hips began to stutter, causing a distressed sound to escape Geralt. He was close, so fucking  _close_ , he just needed something more, a tiny push- 

With a screech, Jaskier came; knot popping into his waiting hole and locking tight, the tip of his cock pressed firmly to his cervix, pushing Geralt into a climax so intense, he felt his eyes roll back into his head.

Every clench of his muscles caused another spurt of come, which caused another ripple, which caused another spurt- it seemed to go on for hours, until he could barely hold himself up anymore. A last, shivering thrust, and Jaskier slipped out, soft cock sliding against Geralt’s rear, smearing his  fur with slick and come. 

Exhausted, Geralt almost collapsed onto the ground,  panting harshly. 

“ _Good enough?”_ Jaskier chirped as he settled beside him, nuzzling against Geralt’s neck.  _ “Think I gave you those kits?”  _

Snorting, Geralt returned the gesture.

“ _Won’t know for a while,”_ Jaskier just gave another happy chirp. 

“ _Best keep trying, as long as you’re in season then. As many times as we can,”_ had Geralt been in his human form, he would have smiled. Ever enthusiastic, and willing to please, his mate. 

“ _After a nap,”_ Geralt decided, resting his head on Jaskiers neck.  _ “Sleep; you’ll need your strength.” _

* * *

Fall turned to winter, and Jaskiers stomach began to swell. Soon, Geralt would begin to show as well. They took turns hunting these days, while they were still able. There wasn’t much other food they could store, no mushrooms or berries, as snow blanketed the ground. Luckily, they would have time to build up their stock. Neither of them were due before summer.

They would simply have to make due with what they had for now, packing on the pounds until they both gave birth. Jaskier would likely be the first to deliver, and once he had recovered, would be their only source of nourishment. Geralt didn’t like the idea of being left behind, of burdening his mate with the responsibility of keeping them fed, but he’d have little choice. By the time their first clutch arrived, Geralt himself would be in the last months of his pregnancy; too heavy and exhausted to do much more than keep their eggs warm.

With the added incentive of keeping them fed, Jaskier became a sufficient hunter. It still took him longer to bring down his prey, but by the end of the day, he would reliably supply them with fresh kills.

Time passed in a pleasant haze as their kits grew; by the end of spring, Jaskier had to give up hunting; his stomach had grown too large, even in this form, for him to risk an injury. Between the two of them, it seemed he carried the larger clutch, groaning in discomfort as he struggled to find a position that didn’t cause him pain. Geralt could do little to sooth his mate, but licking along the brunette’s sore rear seemed to help. He wondered if he, too, would be this uncomfortable by the end.  Not a pleasant thought, but he’d endure far worse for their kits.

“ _ It’ll all be worth it,”  _ he crooned as he nuzzled his mates neck.  _ “Once they’re here, you’ll forget all about the pain.”  _

“ _ I just hope they’ll be here soon,”  _ Jaskier whined, flapping his wings in frustration.  _ “If I grow any bigger, I’ll burst.”  _

As it turned out, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

Not a week later, their nest barely assembled, Geralt woke to the distressed whines of his mate, squirming beside him.

“ _Geralt,”_ the brunette panted, trembling and wide eyed.  _ “Geralt, I- I think they’re coming.”  _

“ _Breathe,”_ Geralt implores, nuzzling his head into the soft fur of Jaskiers stomach, feeling the muscles below contracting.  _ “Just breathe, your body knows what to do. Just follow it.”  _

“ _It hurts,”_ his mate whined, squirming in an attempt to alleviate at least some of the pain, the pressure building in his stomach.  _ “Oh fuck, Geralt it fucking hurts!”  _

“ _I know, little lark, I know it hurts,”_ Geralt soothed, watching as his mate turned to sit up, trembling legs keeping his rear just far enough above their nest to deliver their egg without cracking it in the process. Lowering his head, Geralt did the best he could to assess how far along Jaskier was; only to be caught off guard by their first egg, slowly emerging from between the songbirds legs.  _ “They’re coming sweet one, just let it happen, let it happen.”  _

“ _You let it fucking happen!”_ Jaskier wailed, entire body going tight as a fist as another contraction rippled through him. And then, suddenly, their first egg was with them. Covered in slick and a bit of blood, it rested beneath Jaskier; no larger than Geralt’s fist when he was human. Instincts lead him to gently nudge the egg towards himself, pressing it against his stomach to keep it warm, covering it with his wing. 

On and on it went; for hours, Jaskier labored, until the sun peeked over the horizon. By the end of it, they had three eggs; all safe and sound, pressed between their bodies. Jaskier had fallen asleep soon after, exhausted from the strain his body had been put through. Geralt couldn’t help but stare at their eggs; a few more months, and those eggs would hatch; give way to the life inside them.

And even sooner, they would be joined by the ones still growing in Geralt. It was a daunting thought, but not an unpleasant one.

* * *

Geralt labored a fortnight later.

It was too soon, Jaskier was out on a hunt, recovered from giving birth and eager to leave their den. Geralt wished desperately for his mate to return, to not have to go through this alone.

Jaskier had been right; it certainly fucking  _ hurt _ . 

His body felt like it was tearing itself in half, no amount of shifting and squirming brought him comfort, and by the love of gods, why had he thought this was a good idea?

Jaskier, in the end, arrived just in time to watch Geralt push their clutch out of his body; two eggs, larger than the ones Jaskier had carried, quickly pressed against the brown fur and feathers between them.

“ _You did so good,”_ Jaskier whispered, lapping along Geralt’s beak and forehead.  _ “I’m so sorry I was late, but you did wonderfully my love. They’re finally here.”  _

Geralt gave a sigh of contentment, eyeing their clutch with a sense of overwhelming peace.

Yes, their kits were finally here.

* * *

The eggs hatched not long after; perhaps a month after they’d been delivered. Their kits were small, uncoordinated, but oh so beautiful. Fur and feathers (mostly) the same shade of brown as Jaskiers, but for the very tips of their wings, colored a bright white. All their eyes were the honeyed gold of Geralt’s own.

“ _They’re perfect,”_ he rasped as they licked them clean, simultaneously stimulating the kits circulation as they grew accustomed to the world they would now live in. Jaskier trilled in agreement, gently nudging the first kit to hatch onto its legs, encouraging it to take its first steps. 

“ _Just like their father,”_ Jaskier replied, both of them watching with pride as one after the other, their kits began to move around the space between their parents bodies; the den filled with curious coos and trills. 

Their family was finally complete.

He couldn’t wait to do it all over again, in a decade or two, when their kits were old enough to look after  themselves . 

“ _ Always wanted a big family;”  _ Jaskier crowed, exuding nothing  b ut happiness. 

A big family sounded good to him. 


End file.
